


J&K Investigators: The Final Case

by arabmorgan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Horror, M/M, Mystery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabmorgan/pseuds/arabmorgan
Summary: San's friends have gone missing, and it's up to Wooyoung and Yeosang to solve the case.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: ATEEZ Halloween Week





	J&K Investigators: The Final Case

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween all! This is posted for the day 6 prompt of ATEEZ Halloween Week: haunted house.
> 
> Please note the tags! I will be back with more soft, emotional woosang soon, but today is not that day lol.

Yeosang was definitely annoyed.

He certainly didn’t look it, but it was easy enough for Wooyoung to tell, because in no other situation would Yeosang repeat the obvious so many times in such an ingratiatingly pleasant tone. The kind of tone that suggested, _I can already tell that this case is going to be a massive waste of time, but you’re paying us good money and that’s the only reason I’m still sitting here._

“Let me just make sure we have all of the facts straight,” Yeosang said as he looked down at his phone, and then back up at their client with his usual expression of bland neutrality. “Last night, two of your friends entered a supposedly ‘haunted’ house after losing a dare. You waited for them for half an hour but you didn’t see them leave, and you haven’t heard from them at all today. Therefore you think that they may have gotten hurt by a supernatural force present in the house.”

Choi San, sitting before them with his right hand rubbing compulsively against his left, nodded quickly. “I went to their apartment to check too, but they weren’t there. I would’ve called the police, but I don’t think they’d believe me,” he admitted in a small voice. Wooyoung felt rather sorry for him. The whole thing was barmy, of course, but the worry in San’s voice was certainly genuine.

Yeosang pursed his lips and glanced over at Wooyoung, who took his cue and beamed at San. “Well, we’ll find your friends for you, San-ssi. No need to worry about that. J&K Investigators have a 100% success rate and that’s not about to change.” Whipping out a sheaf of documents and placing it on the table with a flourish, he pointed to the first line with his pen. “As my partner mentioned earlier, we charge hourly, excluding additional costs for transport and accommodation, but you won’t need to worry about that just yet. We only ask for a small retainer fee upfront to secure our services…”

It was an all-too-familiar spiel that Wooyoung had been delivering for the past two years, ever since the formation of Jung & Kang Investigators the moment they had both graduated from university. After all, what better way to use a business degree than to start a business of their own?

“I cannot believe we drove _three_ hours from Pohang for this,” Yeosang said irritably the moment they were back in the car, tossing his phone onto the dashboard with a groan. “He really couldn’t have called for a private investigator who actually _lives_ in the area? It hasn’t even been 24 hours. Those friends of his are probably just waiting to pop up in a day or two so they can laugh at how he thought they got abducted by ghosts. _Ghosts_. Of all things.”

Wooyoung grinned as he started the car. “Well, he’s paying us, isn’t he? That’s what’s important,” he said soothingly. “At least we know it’ll be an easy case.”

Yeosang sighed in grudging agreement and swiped for his phone, scrolling through his notes for a moment before saying, “We still have some time before dinner, so let’s go check out their apartment first. Maybe they were only pretending not to be home when San-ssi dropped by, and we can get all this rubbish wrapped up in an hour. Otherwise we can have a look at this supposedly _haunted_ house of theirs tomorrow morning.”

Wooyoung chuckled. “I’m curious about this haunted house, honestly,” he said. “Even if we find his friends, we should at least have a look at it after driving all the way here.” He glanced out of the window for a moment, and a flash of colour at one of the second-floor windows of the house they had just left caught his eye. He blinked, but it was gone the next second, leaving only the languid flutter of sheer curtains behind glass.

San must have been watching them, probably wondering why they weren’t in more of a hurry to locate his missing friends.

Leaving Yeosang to map their route, Wooyoung pressed down on the accelerator and drove off.

As it turned out, the seventh-floor apartment that Song Mingi and Jeong Yunho shared did indeed seem to be empty. Wooyoung spent a whole ten minutes with his ear pressed against the front door in an extremely suspicious and undignified manner before straightening and turning back to Yeosang with a shrug.

“Total silence,” he reported, “even after we rang the bell twice.” He looked down at that morning’s newspaper lying by his feet and toed them meaningfully.

Yeosang sighed for probably the dozenth time since they had gotten out of the car. “They must be hiding out somewhere else then. The _one_ time you need people to be predictable, they aren’t,” he grumbled as he reached out for Wooyoung’s hand. “To dinner then.”

Wooyoung raised a brow, glancing down at Yeosang’s fingers interlaced with his. “What, are we off work already?” he teased. “No more professionalism required?”

Yeosang shot him a dirty glare. “Do you _want_ dinner break to be considered working hours?” he snapped, and Wooyoung laughed, tightening his grip before Yeosang could tug his hand away in offence.

“I’m kidding,” he purred, leaning over to peck a disgruntled Yeosang on the cheek. “I love you. Let’s go. I’m absolutely starving.”

Wooyoung looked back at the closed door of the apartment only once. It was odd, but for a single moment as he’d been listening at the door, the silence behind it had felt less incidental and more deliberate, as if the apartment hadn’t really been empty at all. As if someone had been standing motionlessly on the other side, listening right back to him.

All this talk about ghosts was getting to his head, Wooyoung thought wryly, as Yeosang pulled him back down the corridor the way they had come.

* * *

The allegedly haunted house looked disappointingly unremarkable in broad daylight. It was, in fact, a mere three streets down from San’s house, and only the large _FOR SALE_ sign stuck on its front lawn differentiated it from all the other neatly kept residences in the vicinity.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” Wooyoung muttered as he got out of the car, surveying the browning hue of the parched grass with a faint curl of his lip.

Yeosang scanned the area casually, his arms folded. “Let’s just get in and out quickly. I would hate to get arrested for trespassing,” he said dryly.

Jogging up to the front porch, it was easy enough to see how San’s missing friends had gotten in. The front door was hanging ajar by an inch and swung open noiselessly at Wooyoung’s touch, revealing a surprisingly tasteful, fully furnished interior of matching rosewood.

“I’m surprised they didn’t cover all this up with sheets or something,” Wooyoung commented, swiping a finger along the edge of the fancy leather sofa and leaving a dark streak through the white dust. “Whoever buys this place is gonna have a fun time spring cleaning.” He grimaced, nose wrinkling as he wiped his finger off on his shirt. The entire place was unevenly lit by the sunlight streaming in through the bare windows, long strips of gold lying beside grimy shadowed corners.

“I’m more surprised that this place hasn’t already been robbed empty.” Yeosang’s voice was sharp with distaste, and Wooyoung looked over to find him already at the other end of the living room, a familiar impatience on his face. “Come on. Let’s clear this place one floor at a time, and then we can leave.”

“I can head straight up to the second floor if you want,” Wooyoung suggested as he came to a stop by Yeosang’s side. “We’d sweep the place faster like that.”

Yeosang glanced over at the sturdy wooden staircase to their left, leading up to another patchily-illuminated corridor, and shook his head. “Let’s stick together. You might catch something that I miss,” he said, his fingers brushing the inside of Wooyoung’s wrist lightly, as if he had wanted to hold on but ended up thinking better of it.

It was an odd sentiment coming from Yeosang, who usually prioritised efficiency above all, and Wooyoung couldn’t help shooting him a questioning look. “You okay?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Yeosang managed a small, strained smile in return. “I don’t know. I don’t like this place. It feels strange,” he said shortly. “I’m not saying it feels _haunted_ , but – there’s something weird about it.”

Wooyoung felt his shoulders relax. “All empty houses feel weird,” he said with a laugh, nudging Yeosang teasingly in the side with his elbow. “I mean, I feel fine. Maybe the ghosts are scared of me. Let’s just stick together and you’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I’m sure,” Yeosang said, his voice full of exasperated affection, but he didn’t protest when Wooyoung tucked his hand loosely into the crook of Yeosang’s elbow, and it was that more than anything that told Wooyoung how genuinely spooked Yeosang was.

There ended up being absolutely nothing of interest on the first floor. There was a back door in the kitchen, but it was securely latched from the inside, effectively ruling that out as a possible exit route for the elusive Yunho and Mingi. Aside from that, all they found were some rat droppings near the corner of the stove, and a small bedroom crammed in the back with nothing but a bed sitting forlornly in the corner, the sheets grey with disuse.

“Well, we weren’t exactly expecting anything when we came in here,” Wooyoung reasoned as they backed out of the bedroom and retraced their steps to the base of the stairs. It felt like a let-down nevertheless. It wasn’t like he had thought they’d find proof of a supernatural abduction, but this house had, after all, been their only real clue to the whole case thus far.

Beside him, Yeosang was very still as he looked out at the living room from their vantage point, his dark eyes narrowed with confusion. Slowly disentangling himself from Wooyoung, he took his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the scene – the lovely, if slightly sad, sunlit space, dust thickly covering every surface except for two pairs of shoeprints clearly outlined on the dark tile.

Wooyoung winced at the sight, his gaze following the painfully conspicuous prints with a repressed sigh. It was almost embarrassing to see the way Yeosang’s trailed straight through from the front door while his own took a more meandering route around the furniture.

“So much for being subtle, huh,” he muttered.

“It also means that no one else has been in here but us,” Yeosang said quietly, and the uncertainty was plain on his face when he met Wooyoung’s eyes. “San-ssi must have been lying about his friends coming here.”

Wooyoung hesitated, tracing the winding trail of his own path with his eyes. “But…why?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Yeosang said with a shake of his head, but his voice was distant and distracted as he stepped away from Wooyoung to peer up the two short flights of stairs leading upwards. “There has to be _something_ here. He’s not paying us so much money just to play a practical joke on two people he’s never met before.”

Wooyoung could feel a dull surge of anger begin to course through him – if there was one thing he hated, it was being made a fool of – and he pushed it down forcibly. “Let’s just finish this then,” he grumbled, stomping past Yeosang and up the first flight of stairs. “You’re going to have to take over the next time we see him, or else I’ll end up giving him a piece of my mind and it won’t be pretty.”

“You’d better not,” Yeosang called warningly, but when Wooyoung looked back at him he was smiling, that bright flash of unreserved gaiety that he allowed to escape so sparingly.

The second floor was narrow, just one room on either end of the corridor with a common space in the middle. Their shoes made muffled thuds against the threadbare carpet as Wooyoung led the way down the hallway to first one room, and then the other, but both were just as empty as the one downstairs. One contained a bed, a dresser, and nothing more; the other was set up as a study, with a lovely mahogany desk right by the window and a matching empty bookcase against the wall.

“You know, this place isn’t half bad,” Wooyoung commented idly as they traipsed back to the common area. “I’d totally live here if we could afford it.”

Only then did he notice the worn backpack lying against one corner, a galaxy pattern in a gradient of blue and purple across its dusty surface. Its zip was half open, the bent corner of a black folder sticking out of it like the cocked ear of a collie.

“Well, here’s something,” he said, probably with a little more excitement than such a common object warranted. Dropping to his knees, Wooyoung tugged the zip fully open, immediately letting out a dramatic cough at the small cloud of dust that mushroomed around his hand. Fanning violently at the air, he tossed the folder to Yeosang before beginning to empty the rest of the bag’s contents methodically.

A half-full plastic bottle of slightly cloudy water; a box of mints; a packet of once-wet wipes; three keys on a keyring; a wallet; six pens and two highlighters; a box of business cards; a much-used notebook with a faux leather cover; a small tub of some sort of medicinal cream.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang said slowly from behind him, as he riffled quickly through the papers in the folder. “This is a contract. A contract engaging the services of another investigative agency signed by Choi San…”

Wooyoung whipped around immediately to glare up at Yeosang. “ _What_?” he sputtered, bristling with indignation at the assumed slight. “Did he not trust us to do our job or –“

“Wooyoung, _listen_ ,” Yeosang interrupted impatiently. “It’s dated 1989. That’s more than thirty years ago, and the San-ssi we met isn’t even thirty.”

Wooyoung looked back down at the items spread messily out before him, feeling more confused than ever. “What does that even mean then?” he said out loud to no one in particular, blinking confusedly before picking up the business cards and peering at the small print. “Mars Investigative Services. Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa. That’s them, I’m guessing. Established 1984. Weird.”

He flipped the wallet open and found that it belonged to one Kim Hongjoong, a sharp-faced, friendly-looking young man whose face stared out at him from the yellowed identity card. “His address is in Jinju, and the agency is based there too. They came all the way out here for a case, just like us.”

There was no reply, but the next moment, a sudden muffled crash of what sounded like wood against carpet made Wooyoung leap to his feet, his heart pounding wildly in shock. There was no one behind him, and a cold shiver of dread crawled up his spine when he looked down at the folder lying at his feet, the contract papers still tucked neatly within.

“Yeosang?” he called tentatively, dropping the wallet and padding out into the hallway. He saw immediately what had caused the crash – the ceiling entrance to the attic was open somehow, the extended ladder leaving deep grooves in the thin carpet.

Wooyoung took a step back without even thinking about it. He didn’t want to go up there. It was completely irrational, but nothing about this attic seemed safe to him. Although, he supposed, no one but Yeosang could have opened that access door. He just didn’t understand _why_. Yeosang didn’t just do things like that without telling him first.

“Yeosang?” he called again, twisting the bottom of his shirt slowly in his fists. All he could hear was the sound of his own anxious breaths rasping in his ears, magnified by the lonely silence pressing in around him.

Wooyoung made his way slowly to the base of the ladder and looked up, but he could see nothing save the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the attic windows. Fumbling for his phone, he scrambled to locate Yeosang’s contact, the emptiness of the house around him suddenly gaining an unnerving sort of oppressiveness the longer he stood stupidly beneath the attic entrance.

The back of his arms and neck prickled with a cool watchfulness, like someone was standing behind him, possibly in the doorway of the study, and yet he also knew that he would find nothing there if he turned around.

_Ghosts aren’t real_ , he thought fiercely to himself as he lifted his phone to his ear and heard it begin to ring tinnily.

At the very same time, the dulcet tones of Paul Kim rang out overhead – Yeosang’s ringtone coming from the attic, just as he had expected. The terrible sensation of being watched vanished like dew beneath the morning sun, and Wooyoung let out a gusty breath of relief. Cutting the call, he scurried up the ladder, pulling himself up the final rung with a loud huff.

“Man, I seriously thought –” Wooyoung started excitedly as he straightened and looked around, but the smile slid off his face in an instant when his eyes landed on the abandoned smartphone lying in the very middle of the otherwise-empty attic. Its screen was still lighted to show off the lockscreen that Wooyoung had been begging Yeosang to change for years, a horrendously ugly selfie comprised largely of Wooyoung’s nostrils and grinning mouth.

Wooyoung stared at it until the screen faded back to black, and then, in a voice so small that Yeosang would never have heard it anyway, he repeated for the third time, “Yeosang?”

He stooped slowly to pick up Yeosang’s phone, and then the single piece of paper it had been sitting on, a yellowed, crumbling note that had gone brown at the edges with age.

> _Dear Yunho,_
> 
> _This letter won’t be overly long as I will have to post it out by today in order for it to reach you before I myself do. I will be taking the 12:10 PM train from Seoul next Thursday and will arrive in Gwangju around 3:00 PM. I am very excited to spend the next two weeks with yourself and Mingi. I have heard so much about…_

Yet another person from out of town who had somehow ended up in this stupid house, Wooyoung realised as he skimmed the rest of the letter. Although he supposed _somehow_ wasn’t entirely accurate – they all had some sort of connection to San, Yunho and Mingi in one way or another. It didn’t exactly take a genius to put two and two together.

_Yours_ , the letter was signed off, and with some difficulty in the fading light, Wooyoung made out the name: _Jongho_.

It was getting dark, he realised with some surprise as he looked up. He thought at first that the clouds had drifted to cover the sun, but the sky outside was the cotton candy orange and blue of sunset, and for a long while Wooyoung simply couldn’t make sense of the sight. It had hardly been past noon when he’d climbed up into the attic.

He pulled his phone out and stared at the time displayed prominently on it for a full ten seconds. The numbers swam before his eyes, and once more, he could hear his heartrate galloping in his ears until it drowned out the white noise around him.

Somehow, without even realising, he had lost _five_ hours. Five hours since he had picked up the letter. Five hours since he had last seen Yeosang.

A terrible panic filled Wooyoung then. Yeosang had been right. There was something very, very wrong going on in this house.

Whirling around, half-terrified that he would find the attic door shut and immensely relieved to see that it was still open, he dashed for the ladder. Every part of him was screaming for him to get out at once, but he couldn’t – not without Yeosang.

“Yeosang!” he cried out the moment his feet touched the ground again, as if he could summon the person he most wanted to see right then with a simple shout. He was panting so hard his vision was going fuzzy, and he stumbled back against the ladder with a stifled whimper, the animal part of his brain shaking with blind terror.

_Calm down_ , he repeated to himself fiercely, over and over. _Calm down calm down calm down. Yeosang needs you. Calm down!_

Still breathing harshly, Wooyoung pushed himself back upright, his mouth dry and sandy after the hours spent in the attic. “Give him back,” he snarled quietly, angrily, knowing that whatever had taken Yeosang would be able to hear him. “Give him back. He’s mine. Give him _back_!”

There was no response, but once again, he felt the unyielding pressure of cold eyes on him.

Cursing under his breath, Wooyoung pushed the attic door shut with a bang before running for the second-floor bedroom. There was a note on the dresser, just a single word scrawled in blue crayon on a page torn out of a notebook.

> _HELP ME._

But it wasn’t Yeosang’s handwriting, and the rest of the room was empty.

Wooyoung turned and ran for the study instead. It was also empty, save for the note lying on the lovely study desk that certainly hadn’t been there before. The same torn notebook paper, but a longer message this time, written hastily in green crayon, so hard that minute crayon shavings could still be dusted off the scrap of paper.

> _WOOYOUNG, I’M SCARED._

Wooyoung crumpled the piece of paper in a shaking fist. This wasn’t Yeosang’s handwriting either. They were playing mind games with him, now that they knew he understood what was going on – he didn’t understand everything, not yet, but he understood enough.

Mingi and Yunho had never gone missing. Jongho was the one who had disappeared, and Hongjoong, and probably Seonghwa too, all of them lured in from miles away, because of course even a wild beast didn’t eat and shit in the same place. Too many local disappearances would cause a buzz, and they couldn’t have that happening, could they?

And now it was his turn to disappear – his and Yeosang’s.

His fear dissolving in the face of his anger, Wooyoung made his way downstairs with new purpose to his steps. He was going to leave. He was going to walk right out of the front door and go to the police, and they would help him get Yeosang back. He didn’t want to, but he had to, and he knew that Yeosang would see the sense in it too.

He wasn’t going to be that idiot in horror movies whom the audience screamed at futilely to run.

He was only halfway down the stairs when he heard the giggle right behind him, small and high-pitched. He tried to turn, but there was a hand pressing between his shoulder blades, and then Wooyoung found himself tumbling the rest of the short way down, his cheek cracking painfully against the bannister along the way. He blinked dazedly, pushing himself up onto all fours and struggling to focus on the glint of silver right before him.

It was a ring. One of those cheesy couple rings that Yeosang never failed to scoff at, but nevertheless had worn day and night ever since Wooyoung had bought them a pair.

Wooyoung felt as if the breath had been punched out of his body. Tears blurring his eyes, he snatched the ring up and pushed himself to his feet, swaying like a drunkard. The left side of his face was burning with pain, and the front door, just across the length of the living room that was now shrouded with evening grey, seemed impossibly far away.

Slowly, afraid of what he might see, Wooyoung turned to look back up the stairs, but there was no one there.

He found another note stuck on the front door, scribbled this time in bright red crayon.

A single word: _LISTEN._ And beneath that, perfectly encapsulating the inner workings of a demented mind, a smiley face.

> _:)_

Wooyoung heard it then – a shriek of what sounded like horror, before it stretched out into a shrill, desperate squealing cry of pain. He had never heard Yeosang scream before, but he recognised it at once all the same. It went on for longer than he would have thought possible, a gasping, quivering scream of prolonged agony that left Wooyoung feeling like his brain had been drilled into, and when he came back to himself he found that he was crouched on the ground with his hands over his ears.

“Please,” he whispered, and he didn’t even know at first what he was begging for. “Please don’t hurt him again. I won’t leave. Please.”

He crawled shakily away from the door, picking himself up as he went, his hands and knees smeared chalky white with dust. The door to the basement was open now, he realised dimly. Not that he had known there was even a basement in the house before, but there it was, a gaping rectangle of gloom yawning widely right opposite the stairs, sinking down into darkness.

He could feel something in there watching him from the shadows, holding back just out of sight – and that something had Yeosang.

Wooyoung wiped at his tear-streaked cheeks, smearing his face with dirt and wincing at the pain of his swollen cheek. He dug in his pockets for his phone, wanting at the very least to have a source of light before he ventured down into the unknown, but all of his pockets were empty, and he was far too tired to really be surprised.

He looked out of the windows once more – it was night now. Soon there wouldn’t be all that much difference between the darkness of the living room and the darkness of the basement.

He had to go down. He had to.

His breaths rattling in his chest with every shaky breath, Wooyoung began the slow descent, his hand dragging roughly along the wooden handrail of the coarse basement steps. It took only six steps for the blackness to become absolute, for the outline of his own hand before his face to vanish and his own quick, hitching breaths to once more dominate his awareness. He took each step on bent knees, afraid to slip or miss a step, his hands surely white-knuckled from how tightly he was gripping the handrail.

Someone giggled quietly behind him.

“Please don’t,” Wooyoung moaned, flinching away right before he was shoved forward into space. It felt like a far longer tumble than before, or perhaps it was just the utter disorientation of freefalling through darkness. He couldn’t see the floor coming up to meet him, his arms flailing wildly for something to grasp instead of bracing himself for impact, and his nose cracked audibly when it hit concrete.

Wooyoung lay stunned for a long second, feeling the warm trickle of what was undoubtedly blood oozing from his nose and filling his mouth. Slowly, painfully, he curled into himself, arms wrapping around his knees as he began to cry quietly with the bitter tang of iron on his tongue.

“Mingi,” a deep voice complained from somewhere above him. “Stop _pushing_ people. They’re never any fun when they get hurt.”

“But I’m the one who never has any fun,” Mingi retorted petulantly, and his voice too came out far deeper than his hysterical giggles might have suggested.

A gentle hand patted at his hair, and Wooyoung curled even tighter into himself with a wet sob, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs and the blood beginning to run down his throat from his nose.

“You did great, Wooyoung-ssi,” came a familiar voice, one that Wooyoung had heard just the day before. “You promised me you’d find my friends and you did. You lived up to your 100% success rate.”

San laughed, a rich sound of cruel delight, and Wooyoung reached out blindly, swatting San’s hand away from his head with as much vehemence as he could muster. He could hardly believe that he had felt sorry for San once. It all felt like another lifetime now. Another Wooyoung, another Yeosang.

“All right,” San said indulgently, his voice fading slightly into the distance as if he had straightened from a crouch. “You can spend some time with your precious lover before we come back for you both later. We’re kind like that, aren’t we, Yunho? Of course, there’s not all that much left of him, but if you call for him sweetly enough – well, we’ll have to see if he loves you enough to respond.”

Mingi giggled again, and then, quite abruptly, the cool appraisal of their attention faded from Wooyoung’s skin, leaving him shaking and nauseous with pain.

Wooyoung spat a glob of blood from his dry, sticky mouth and lay unmoving for as long as he could stand it, listening to the endless buzz of darkness around him. He wondered if they had been lying about Yeosang. He wondered if he was desperate enough to try anyway.

Gathering his arms beneath him, Wooyoung pushed himself upright, wavering sightlessly before planting one hand on the ground to anchor himself.

“Yeosang?” he called, his voice coming out thick and muffled through the blood clogging up his nose, every syllable sending a bolt of pain through his entire face. There was no echo, and the hungry darkness seemed to swallow every other sound he made.

Only empty silence greeted him, and Wooyoung let out a soft sob of despair as the hope drained from his chest. “Yeosang, it’s me,” he said hoarsely. “I love you. I can’t remember what I last said to you, but I love you. I love you so –“

And then he heard it. A low, fleshy scraping noise, pulling itself wetly towards him with the rough slide of raw meat against concrete. It sounded like blood and bone, sinew and gristle, everything that held a person together from the inside.

It was Yeosang, responding to his call, and Wooyoung wept to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something properly horror for ages so this was a ton of fun - if you got spooked I would love to know! I do have an idea of what they did to Yeosang in the basement, but in the end I decided not to go into too much detail so you guys could have fun imagining it for yourself (｀∀´)Ψ


End file.
